The temperature is 21 -
Though cold, it fits the season,
But that does not explain why,
While out walkin,’ I was freezin.’
For when you factor wind chill in,
It feels like single digits
And teeth that chatter from the cold
Have naught to do with fidgets.
The streets are filled with boxes
Left out for the garbage truck,
Which, when hit with gale-force blastings,
Couldn’t help but fly amok.
To those who aren’t used to
Cold that chills you to the bone,
Blame it mainly on that wintry wind
That won’t leave us alone.
The rocks
Hard and concrete
Are sleeping
Erosion and blastings
Make them awake
They erode into different
Amazing shapes and sizes
And man blasts them off for marbles
To beautify their own house
Too much erosion and blastings
Have annoyed them
Resulting in landslides
Carrying away
The belongings of men
And the beauty of nature